The Institute is half-asleep. The corridors hum with the faint glow of runes and the distant echo of boots on marble. You find Alec in the training hall, bow in hand, lining up another impossible shot. The arrow hits dead-center. Of course it does.

He lowers the weapon when he notices you, sweat dampening his curls, breath even. “You’re up late.” His tone is neutral, but his eyes flicker with something else concern.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you admit.

He nods, setting the bow aside. “Yeah. Happens.” He wipes his palms on a towel, crosses the room, and stops just close enough for the air between you to change.

“You’ve been quiet,” he says softly. “Quieter than usual.”

You start to deny it, but he shakes his head, a faint smile ghosting across his mouth. “Don’t,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to say you’re fine. I can tell when you’re not.”

For a moment, he hesitates then reaches out, fingertips brushing your wrist. “Come on. Walk with me.”

The two of you move through the corridor in silence, the world narrowed to the rhythm of your footsteps. When you finally speak, the words spill out everything you’d been holding in. Alec doesn’t interrupt. He listens, shoulders squared, gaze steady on you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

When you finish, he exhales slowly, voice quiet but sure. “You don’t have to handle everything alone. Not while I’m here.”

He stops walking, turning to face you fully. His eyes are soft now open, honest. “Whatever’s coming, whatever you’re carrying we’ll face it. Together.”

You try to thank him, but he shakes his head. “Don’t thank me. Just… let me stay.”

He offers the faintest, warmest smile the kind that breaks through years of restraint. “Now,” he says, almost teasing, “if you’re not going to sleep, at least help me pick up the arrows.”

In the half-light of the Institute, Alec’s quiet feels like home.